Into The East
by Mogatrat
Summary: A collection of short stories revolving around Courier Six's eastward campaign against the Legion, essentially an epilogue for New Vegas that completes what I see as the Courier's character arc. T for violence, swearing, implications in backstory.
1. An Awkward Serenade

**An Awkward Serenade**

"It's her last night in the Mojave, and she's spending it at the Tops," the one-eyed man said.

"So what do you want me to do about it?" the mustachioed drifter replied, shifting in his seat. He looked at the clock on the wall beside him. 5:45.

"I saw the song you wrote about her. You'd better sing it."

"How'd you get into my stuff?"

"I'm your manager, it's my job." Tommy Torini paced in front of the drifter, smoking a cigarette. He felt the curtain beside him and sighed. "Seriously, I don't want you to let her get away."

"And what makes you so interested?" the drifter asked, laying his guitar over his lap.

"I'm a romantic a'sorts, all right?"

"And the publicity," the drifter said wryly.

"Well, yeah! Imagine the headlines, 'Courier Six seduced at the Aces - Public goes wild!'" Tommy said, looking up to the ceiling reverently. "Just think!"

"My feelings aren't part of the act."

"Bullshit, your songs get half the customers crying into their drinks."

"You have yourself a point," the drifter admitted. He looked up at the clock again. "Is she even gonna come to the show?"

"She always catches you when she's got the time, you know that."

"Doesn't mean she'll do it for her last night. She might just decide to gamble herself an extra month of supplies."

Tommy sighed, looking down at the drifter. "Of course she'll come. Will you do it or not?"

The drifter looked at his guitar, then down to the ground at his case, where lyrics and music sat. The one on top was labeled "New Vegas Valley". He put a hand on his chin and considered for a moment, then looked back up at his manager. "All right. I'll do it."

"You're the best, Lonesome."

"I have a name."

"Yeah, but real names are boring. Show's on in five, get yourself ready." Tommy left the backstage area to the man known as the Lonesome Drifter, who looked up to the clock and slowly counted off the seconds in his head, shaking in his boots.

Leather boots scuffed along the hardwood floor of the Aces theater as the woman known as Courier Six walked in, surveying her surroundings. Her head turned this way and that, eyes obscured by blackout aviators scanning the room for a clear spot. When she stopped and looked at a table of desert-camouflaged soldiers, they immediately looked to her, sat straight up, and saluted. They quickly vacated their seats. Courier Six tipped the black desperado hat on her head and took their table, stretching her legs across two chairs. She opened the brown trenchcoat she wore over her black armor, pulling a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket. A bartender quickly came and put a whiskey on the table before her, which she set aside in order to light a cigarette. Once lit and secure in her mouth, she took the massive anti-materiel rifle from her back and laid it on the table. She pulled a rag from her pocket and began to clean the huge firearm.

She looked at the clock above the stage. 5:59. Perfect.

The curtain lifted, and the Lonesome Drifter stood up, took his guitar and sheet music to the front of the stage, and sat down on a lonely stool. Six took a drag, the Drifter cleared his throat.

"This one goes out to a very special woman, who has changed all of our lives over the past few months," the Drifter announced. Six smirked, and a few scattered claps came from the audience. The Drifter took a deep breath, and began to strum his guitar. Then, he started to sing.

"_From this wasteland they say you are going._

_We will miss your bright eyes and sweet smile,_

_For they say you are taking the sunshine_

_that has brightened our world for a while_."

Six looked up from her cleaning, cigarette idly burning. Looking down at his instrument, the Drifter straightened up a little.

"_So come sit by my side, if you love me._

_Do not hasten to bid me adieu._

_Just remember the New Vegas valley,_

_and the drifter that loved you so true._"

Six ground out her cigarette in the table's ashtray, then looked up, folding her sunglasses and putting them in an inside pocket. Her pale blue eyes met the Drifter's, and he now looked directly at the subject of his serenade.

"_For a long time, my darling, I've waited_

_for the sweet words you never would say._

_Now at last all my fond hopes have vanished,_

_for they say that you're going away._"

Six's smile was wide, yet something looked off to the Drifter. Her eyebrows were lifted, and her eyes seemed to carry a deep pity. A woman in a brown suede jacket and rattan cowboy hat entered the room, and the Courier moved her legs to allow her to sit. The jacketed woman leaned over to whisper in Six's ear, but she quickly shushed her companion.

"_So come sit at my side, if you love me_," the Drifter sang - and the Courier began to stand.

"_Do not hasten to bid me adieu._"

She approached the stage.

"_Just remember the New Vegas valley..._"

She reached one of the twin stairs leading to the Drifter's place of performance.

"_And the drifter that loved you so true_."

Amid applause, the Courier walked on stage and pulled the Drifter to his feet. He grinned giddily, glad to be hand-in-hand with the woman of his dreams. As he stood, he asked, "So, you interested in becoming Mrs. Lonesome Drifter?" But her smile was still sad, and the Drifter's expression suddenly fell. He felt a heartbreak in the works.

"Only if you've got a sister," Six replied.

The drifter looked confused, so the Courier's companion felt a need to speak.

"She likes girls, you dumb fuck!" she called from the back.

There was an outbreak of nervous laughter. Courier turned her head to look at the cowgirl, snapping "Cass!"

"What? You weren't going fast enough," Cass explained.

"You are so tactless," the Courier sighed, turning back to her would-be seducer. He let go of her hand and took a step back.

"Oh. Sorry," he mumbled, looking at the floor.

"No, don't be, that was the most romantic thing anyone's ever done for me," Six replied, lifting his chin up. "I've never gotten my very own serenade before."

"Well, at least you'll remember me, if only for causing the most awkward moment of your life," the Drifter said sheepishly.

"Actually, that honor belongs to Cass," the Courier said, putting a hand on her hip and glancing at the cowgirl.

"That was the one time, swear to God," Cass said, putting her hands up in defense.

"I can still never sleep in my bed again."

The crowd laughed, and the Drifter realized she was trying to pin the pressure on someone else, to save him embarrassment. Oh, God, how he loved her. "Well, I guess I've still got a full show to do," he said, taking a seat again. "You sticking around?"

"Hold on a minute, who said you can't get a little something for that gesture?" The Courier leaned down and planted a kiss on the Drifter's forehead. As blood rose in his face, she turned back to the cowgirl, beckoning her over. "And who says you still have to do a show after that awkward moment?"

"What do you want me to do?" Cass asked, though she was already getting up.

"Show this man a good time, will you?" the Courier asked. The crowd laughed again, and the Drifter took a closer look at Cass as she approached the stage. She wasn't bad, not bad at all, now that he thought about it - pretty red hair, big blue eyes, and a raunchy disposition.

"Hey, you're not my pimp," Cass said accusingly - yet she still approached the stage. Another good laugh from the crowd.

"You willing?" Six asked the Drifter.

"She is quite...nice," the Drifter admitted. Someone whooped.

"Oh hell, why not? Been in a bit of a dry spell anyway," Cass said, leaping up onto the stage and grabbing the Drifter's hand. "Your dressing room?" she asked, to a holler from the audience.

Tommy suddenly stepped up on stage. "Woah, woah, guys, control your hormones!" he cried. "I gotta have a show runnin' for another hour!"

"Well, bring out the ghoul!" one of the soldiers the Courier had disturbed earlier called out. They started their own chorus of "Ghoul! Ghoul! Ghoul! Ghoul!"

"I got stuff to say about this!" a raspy voice called from backstage. "This is prime material!"

"Get on up here, Hadrian!" Tommy shouted. "Lonesome, you're excused."

"Damn straight, he is," Cass confirmed, pulling the Drifter through a door backstage. He didn't bother to protest. The Courier tipped her hat to the crowd, earning herself a round of applause and cheers. She leapt down from the stage, grabbing her rifle and slinging it across her back. She turned again to the crowd.

"Don't any of you worry!" she called. "I'll be back from Arizona before you know it! The Legion can't be that big, can it?" Laughter, applause from the audience.

"She's dead! Everybody, we're holding the funeral now!" a man with very bad skin called out as he stepped to the front of the stage.

"Do what you want, Hadrian - bet you a thousand caps I'm back here in six months or less."

"Hey, how am I getting my end of the bargain if you bite it?" the ghoul inquired.

"It's going straight to my will," the Courier replied, taking her sunglasses from her pocket. "'Course, I'm sure with your _vast earnings_, it'll just be pocket change." She put on the glasses and turned to leave.

"Damn straight it will be, Six!"

"See you in six months!" Six proclaimed as she left, followed by thunderous applause.


	2. Revisit and Reunite

(Author's Note: If it seems like I'm ignoring certain parts of the canon surrounding the Sierra Madre, it's because those parts of canon never made sense to begin with.)

**Revisit and Reunite**

A surgically-scarred bald woman silently prowled the halls of an ancient, dusty casino, on the alert for any noise. She awaited the slightest disturbance in the quiet, ready to spring to action. She held a laser pistol in one hand, primed and ready to eliminate or scare away the next greedy wanderer who wanted something from the Sierra Madre. She expected at any moment to hear someone fumbling with the lock on the gate, or blowing it open, or melting through it with a blowtorch.

What she heard, as she passed through that serene lobby, was knocking. Somewhat insistent knocking, for that matter. She went to the door and managed a sort of choked sound, then cleared her throat. It had been a while since she last spoke. She still hated her new voice.

"Leave! This place is a trap, and it's claimed enough lives!" she said to the door.

"I keep my promises," was the muffled response from the other side of the door.

The watcher's eyes widened, and she hastily unlocked the door to behold a blond woman in a black cowboy hat, blackout aviators, and a brown trenchcoat worn over riot armor.

"And I brought a present," the blond woman said, standing aside. A third woman, clad in brown robes with a hood hiding her hair, looked confusedly at the scarred watcher.

The scarred woman gasped, eyes welling up with tears. "Veronica?" she whispered.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" Veronica inquired, putting a hand on her hip. "Cynthia, I thought you said I'd know this person..."

"Veronica, it's me! It's Christine!" the watcher pleaded, stepping a few tentative feet towards Veronica.

"What?" Veronica asked, looking closer. "But...you don't - and your voice..."

"She's been through a lot, Veronica," Cynthia said, putting a hand on Veronica's shoulder. "But I know it's her. I've been through the Big Empty, I've heard her stories."

Veronica blinked a few times, then shut her eyes and shook her head. "No, no, she's gone, I'd _just _gotten over-"

Christine could no longer restrain herself, and rushed forward to embrace Veronica. "I missed you so much," she sobbed, burying her head in the shoulder of the scribe's robes. Veronica's arms remained at her sides for a few stiff seconds, then relaxed and wrapped around Christine.

"Tell me...something only we would know, prove to me that this isn't just a _big _misunderstanding," Veronica asked.

"Your b-biggest dream was to get a pretty dress," Christine managed after several half-sobs and false starts.

Veronica squeezed Christine hard, closing her eyes and laying her head on the bald woman's shoulder. "I can't believe it."

Christine finally looked up and glanced at Cynthia, who tipped her hat. "Thank you," Christine began, but Cynthia held up a hand.

"You two have a lot of catching-up to do, and we're on a bit of a schedule. Go on, back to your room, Christine. I'll wait in the bar. Cass has a nose like a bloodhound for booze -pretty sure that's where she ran off to, anyway - and she'll find me there eventually."

Christine pulled herself away from Veronica, then took her hand and led her up a spiral staircase, into the suites. Cynthia headed into the casino, taking a staircase up to the bar, where a glowing blue figure watched her every move. She pulled a few golden coins from her coat and tossed them at the hologram. They fell straight through its body. "Sarsaparilla," she said. A panel in one of the tables lifted and slid sideways, allowing a brown bottle to lift up in its place. Cynthia tipped her hat at the hologram and took a seat, popping off the bottlecap. She turned it over in her hand, spotted a glowing blue star, and pocketed the cap, smiling. _Icing on the cake,_ she thought.

As she sipped the bitter soda, she heard a stumbling gait below her, then a bump and a curse. She smirked, turning her eyes to the stairs. As expected, a woman in a tattered cowboy hat and leather jacket stumbled up the staircase, holding onto the railing for dear life. She turned her blue eyes towards the Courier.

"What th' hell do they serve in these fuckin' bars?" she asked. "I just saw some seriously freaky shit, dudes walking all funny and they had like these glowing eyes 'n shit." She stumbled over to Cynthia's table and collapsed into a seat, leaning her head back over the back of her chair. "Fuck!" she added, apparently as an afterthought.

"Ghost People. Guess I left them out when I told you about the Madre, didn't I?" Cynthia said.

"The fuck? Those were real? I just thought 200-year-old booze was doing that shit."

Cynthia laughed quietly. "Yeah. Not sure what their deal is, but they stopped with the traps and the murder once the vault exploded. I've just steered clear of their hideouts, and they don't seem to bother me."

"Fuckin' wasteland," the cowgirl lamented.

"Want anything?"

"Whiskey."

Cynthia tossed a few more coins through the bartender and moved her drink. The platform below it retreated, then came back up with the cowgirl's request. Cynthia held up her sarsaparilla bottle to her companion.

"Cass - to the weird shit of the Wastes?"

"Hell yeah. To the Big Empty and Vault Eleven and all the other shit we've seen." Cass picked up the bottle of whiskey and clinked glass with Cynthia, and both took a long drink. As they both set down their respective beverages, Cass asked "So, the lovebirds bashin' gash?"

Cynthia stifled a laugh. "Probably not yet," she said. "I gave them some time to talk to each other without me getting in the way. It's not about me, it's about them."

"You're so fucking noble it drives me to drink!' Cass exclaimed, taking another swig.

"Yes, yes, confound me. But seeing their expressions, hearing Christine, seeing her that happy - that really is its own reward, you know?"

Cass set down the bottle and attempted to give a cock-eyed look to Cynthia, but succeeded only in making herself look more intoxicated than she already was.

"What?"

"You're getting all romantic and shit when you have like three girls you're fucking on a weekly basis and you've _never _kissed any of them."

"So?"

"So I'm seeing a disrespec-discrepep-disc- you're a fuckin' hypocrite, okay?"

"I'm not following you."

"Yes you fuckin' are, you're just messing with me."

"I don't want to talk about it."

Cass narrowed her eyes. "My dad said once that if you ever say "I don't wanna talk about it", you really need to."

"Cass, drop it."

"Why you going East, anyway? Why don't you just settle down with a nice girl and stay in the Mojave with all your friends? Just defend Vegas with us, join the government, _something_ instead of this crazy killing-the-Legion bull."

"Cass-"

"And, like, why do you hate the Legion so much? Like really, I hate 'em too, but I've never seen anyone get as mad as you just from seeing fucking football pads. You went fucking berserk on Caesar, didn't even do your cold-sniper routine-"

Cynthia slammed both her palms on the table. "Cass. Fucking. Drop it."

"No! I wanna know this shit! I've told you fucking everything about my fucking life but I don't know anything about you from before you got shot in the fucking face! I have to make up shit to tell people when they ask me where you came from! There's like six different versions of your origin story floatin' 'round the Mojave 'cause you don't tell me shit!" Cass shouted.

"You wanna hear a fuckin' story?"

"YES I wanna hear a fuckin' story! You've been all team therapist on everyone but you've never even tried to get help from us! Never shared anything, never opened up, never made us feel like friends instead of fuckin' soldiers under your command!" Cass' eyes burned into the black field of Cynthia's sunglasses. "Who the fuck are you, Courier Six?" she challenged.

Cynthia didn't speak for a few seconds, eyebrows narrowed, scowl on her lips. "Fine," she finally spat. "You want to know where I came from, what I went through just to get to the Mojave?"

"Yes! Did I fucking mumble in that rant?"

"I was born in Flagstaff, Arizona."

Cass' face fell.

"I was five when the Legion invaded. I was enslaved, with everyone else."

Cass bit her lip and looked away.

"Fifteen long years. I served in Caesar's private _harem_." Cynthia spat the word, her face contorting in anger and disgust. "My body stolen from me. My freedom. My identity, stripped. Gone. You know what they do to women in the Legion, Cass. Do I have to relive it?"

Cass didn't respond, looking down at her hands.

"It wasn't until Leona got sent down to Flagstaff that I had any hope at all. She was a scavenger, made her living repairing pre-war junk. She was enslaved and sent down to help Caesar repair an Auto-Doc. She was...God, where do I even start? Long red hair, big, blue eyes, endless legs...I fell in love with her the moment I saw her, snuck around the harem just to look at her. Once she was allowed to retire for the day, I basically pounced on her bed and begged her to take me." Cynthia let a smile cross her lips briefly. "She refused - good on her, really - but she told me her real plan. She was gonna rig the Auto-Doc to kill Caesar, then skip out with some stolen armor and weapons. Of course, that just made me love her more, and I knew by the way she looked at me that...well, that she was like me. That she did want me, but didn't want my slave mentality to drive our relationship. She gave me a kiss and promised that we'd escape in a week." Cynthia sighed, and took a long drink of her sarsaparilla. Cass leaned forward.

"What?" Cynthia asked.

"I-I wanna hear the rest," Cass said meekly.

"Throat's dry, all right?"

A tear leaked out from under the sunglasses, and Cynthia swiftly wiped it away.

"If you don't want to, you can-" Cass began.

"No. I'm finishing. Just give me a minute." Cynthia put two fingers to her forehead, kneading the skin there as she tilted her head down. "This isn't easy." She took another drink.

"She messed with the Auto-Doc and it cut Caesar up pretty bad - but it didn't kill him. By the time he got out of surgery his body was a mess, and he was screaming for Leona's blood. Scalpel missed his heart by inches, but he had plenty of cuts, so he wasn't able to come after her himself. We were sneaking out of the building when they started clanging on the alarms - these big bells they took out of some church ruins. I had a pistol, she'd taken a tire iron - said that was what she used to keep herself outta Legion hands before she heard that Caesar's Auto-Doc was having problems. Once the first guard came for us, she hooked the thing around his stupid play-sword and sent it flying away. Still remember that move of hers, it was her pride and joy." Cynthia took another drink and sighed. "I wasn't a terribly good shot back then, but we were fast and good and avoiding the patrols. Got the hell out of Flagstaff with just a few cuts and bruises. We ran for days, hiding out in ruins and caves. Then she betrayed me for the first time."

"What?" Cass interrupted. "But-"

"Don't talk, listen," Cynthia chided. "We were hiding out in a cave of junkies when the Legion bore down on them. They recognized Leona right away - but she was so scared, and she'd only known me for a month - and at heart, she was just a scavenger. So she told them it was all my doing, that I'd sabotaged the Auto-Doc, and forced her to come with her because she knew they'd blame her. It worked. She got to go freely with them back to Caesar, while I was bound up in chains and dragged behind a cart for miles. They waited until my legs were so torn up I couldn't run, then sat me in the cart, handcuffed. She whispered over and over that she was sorry, and I believed her. I was so grateful to her, because she was the only person I'd ever met who acted like they cared about me."

Cynthia downed the last of her soft drink, then threw it through the bartender and watched it shatter against the wall. She dug a few more coins from her pocket, threw them at the hologram, and demanded, "Absinthe." She grabbed the green bottle as it rose up and downed a fifth of it, then slammed it back onto the table. Cass jumped.

"So, of course, like an _idiot_, I made plans to run away with her again. We'd talk for hours about what we were gonna do, where we were gonna go, how exactly we'd get out of Caesar's stronghold. Caesar was convinced the cart ride had bullied me back into submission, but I was more determined than ever. I had a love that I thought was worth fighting for. So about a year later, after my legs had healed, after Leona fixed the Auto-Doc, I told her my plan to escape. She was supposed to meet me at the armory, sneak in during the guard change. Instead, when I went in there, Caesar himself was waiting for me. I wasn't very strong back then - he overpowered me. I was stripped, tied to a post outside and whipped. One hundred lashes. The scars are still there. After that, imprisonment. Alone. Rat meat and irradiated water." Cynthia took another swig of absinthe.

"How'd you get out?" Cass asked.

Cynthia set the bottle down and wiped her lips, then took her sunglasses off to wipe at her eyes. She left them on the table as she continued her story. "Leona came to visit me as often as she could...so she could use me. I was so fucked-up by then, I thought it was love. She said that she only gave me away because she wanted me to be safe, to stay in Legion territory and protection so I wouldn't get killed out in the Wastes. Made sense to her, I guess. One day, she left the door open, and I grabbed her arm and tried to take her with me. She pushed me away and called for the guard, and I decided that, with or without her, I was gone. I ran, stole a hunting rifle on my way out. Still shit with a gun, but I managed to wing a couple of Legionaries on my way out. Holed up in a shack that used to belong to some raider. She found me on the third day, starting knocking at the door, saying that she'd escaped, that she wanted to leave with me."

"Tell me you didn't fall for that shit," Cass interrupted.

"I shot her six times in the chest." Cynthia took another swig. "The Legionaries tried to just rush in and take the shack by storm. Killed them, started running again. Didn't stop 'till I reached New Canaan. Stayed there for...oh, nine, ten years? That was the last thing I really remember. The whole getting-shot-in-the-head thing wiped my memory of why I came to Vegas, why I worked for the Mojave Express. Last thing I remember was a caravan route that headed back into New Canaan."

"Did you have anyone there?"

"Lived alone, on the outskirts. I was a Gentile, you know, not really part of their community. But they let me stick around, traded with me, hired me on for jobs. They all felt good about themselves for helping out the poor slave girl. I hated that. I hated the looks they gave me, the way they treated me as a fragile little flower. Even on the jobs where I was supposed to be guarding the fucking caravan, they'd get nervous and cluster around me if they thought they saw anything moving." Cynthia drained the bottle and set it down gently. "That's probably why I went to the Mojave - to be independent, to begin again. To not have my past follow me everywhere. But once I saw Nipton...I knew I couldn't stay a low-player anymore. I had to fight back, to stop anything like what happened to me from happening to a single other human being. That shot in the head changed me from someone who really, deep down, still feared the Legion, to a woman who hated them, who had a purpose. So that's when I became Courier Six. That's when I shed my slave name and took my own."

Cynthia looked into Cass' eyes, a resolute stare, no longer watery and uncertain. "And I fucking did it. I butchered Caesar like the animal he was. I blew a huge hole in the mask of the Legate. I turned Cottonwood Cove into a radioactive hellhole. I threw the Legion off the Hoover Dam and I am goddamn proud of it. But my work is _not _finished, fuck no. The Legion has to be _annihilated_. Every slave freed, every rapist in football pads removed from this wasteland. Every camp burned to ash, every crucified body buried, every machete melted down for more guns to fuel our campaign." Cynthia picked up her sunglasses and put them back on, hiding her pale blue eyes. She got up from the table. "That's the story of Courier Six, Cass. But I'm not ending it yet." Cynthia began to head back down the stairs.

"You know I'm going with you, right?" Cass called. Cynthia stopped.

"Just Boone," she said over her shoulder.

"Fucking wrong. After you tell me that shit, you expect me to let you go? Fuck that. I follow you because I want to help you, because I think you're doing the right thing. And the Mojave doesn't hold anything for me. You're the only person in my life that means anything to me at this point. I'm sticking with you 'till Flagstaff itself has the two-headed bear flying." Cass held up her whiskey to the Courier. "Eastward fucking ho."

The Courier turned back to the cowgirl. She pushed her sunglasses down her nose, and seemed to really look over Cass for the first time, up and down. She smiled.

"Eastward fucking ho," she confirmed. "I'll come back for you in a minute, gonna check up on Christine and Veronica."

"You abandon me at this bar and I will hunt you down and murder you."

"I'm coming back, Cass."

"You better."

Cynthia left the bar, exited the casino, and headed upstairs to the suites. She found her way through illustrious hallways blocked by stone and rubble, through holes in the walls and avoiding the red Cloud seeping into the casino. She followed her memory, to the huge suite at the back. The doors were closed, and she took her hat off and pressed it to her chest. She put her ear to the door. She could only hear quiet, loving whispers. She knocked. Someone crashed to the floor within, followed by a chanting of "Sorry!" from Veronica.

"Come in!" Christine called. Cynthia replaced her hat and pushed the doors open. Veronica got up off the couch and helped Christine up off the floor, brushing her off.

"What's up, Cynthia?" Veronica said nervously. "Something wrong?"

"We're still on a bit of a time schedule - and frankly, I don't want to stay in this place any longer than I have to. I need to know if you two came to any decision about staying here or going back to the Mojave."

"What do you mean?" Christine asked.

"Do either of you want to stay here or head back to the Lucky 38?" Cynthia asked. "I know you wanted to be all - I don't know - 'guardian of the Madre' and all, Christine, but I don't know if Veronica wants to share that life with you," Cynthia explained.

Veronica looked to the scarred woman. "Well...I don't want to stay here. No offense, Christine, but this place is kind of a dump..." She trailed off, looking to her lover. Christine shifted, avoiding eye contact with Veronica.

"I'm not...I stayed here because I burned all my bridges back home, it seemed like...like a purpose. But having you again - that could be enough. If you've got something going back home..."

"It's not really 'back home', really, but I'm working with the Followers now, with Arcade - it's a good life, and you really feel like you're doing something good, you know?" Veronica said.

"Doing something good - that'd be a nice change from chasing after a madman for revenge." Christine smiled shyly and grasped Veronica's hand. "I'll go with you, shut down the whole casino. Power grid, villa, everything. Put up a sign, maybe, 'Plundered Already'."

"Do whatever you two want, pack up your stuff. Our packs are outside the gates. Meet me and Cass in the bar when you're done." Cynthia left the two women and made her way back to the bar. Cass hadn't moved, though a second whiskey bottle had mysteriously materialized by the first.

"Lovebird status?" Cass inquired.

"They're both coming back to the 38. Bar's gonna be shut down for good, so we'll know when they're ready." Cynthia sat down at Cass' table.

"Hey, sorry for being so pushy before with the whole thing with the things, you know?" Cass slurred.

"Don't be. It was...I almost felt like I was knitting my life back together. I'd spent so long just in this state of rage against the Legion that I'd almost forgotten what started it all. It's been eleven years since Leona." Cynthia reached across the table and squeezed Cass' hand. "Thank you. Really."

"Hey, don't sweat it, drunken rages bring out th' best in allaus, right?"

Cynthia smiled. "Guess so."

Cass put her head down on the table. "Comfy," she said. Cynthia chuckled softly to herself and ordered another sarsaparilla as Cass began to snore.

Soon enough, the hologram flickered out of existence and the casino went dark. Cynthia got up and carefully shook her companion by the shoulder.

"C'mon, Cass, time to go," she said.

"Don' wanna," Cass mumbled into the table.

"Come on, it's late...I think, hard to tell around here. We'll be setting up camp in the valley just outside the Cloud."

"But that's like a half-hour from here!" Cass whined.

Cynthia held out a hand. "C'mon, drunkie, I'll help you out. All you have to do is walk." Cass let out a groan, lifted her head, and took Cynthia's hand. Cynthia pulled her companion from the seat, and steadied her, moving her hands to Cass' shoulders to stop her from falling.

"You're the best," Cass said. She attempted to take a step by herself, and wobbled somewhat worryingly. Cynthia steadied her again, then slug an arm across her shoulders.

"Come on, I'll hold you up," Cynthia offered.

The two of them struggled down the staircase, coming upon the door to the lobby just as it swung open, a bright light shining in Cynthia's eyes. Christine lowered the flashlight and looked at the two women quizically.

"How do you even see in the dark with those on?" she asked, pointing to the Courier's sunglasses.

"Experience. You all ready?" Cynthia replied.

Christine shifted the bag on her shoulder and nodded. "Veronica's outside already."

"Then let's get going." 

They met up with the Scribe outside of the casino, and carefully walked through the Villa. As they passed the fountain, a figure in brown with glowing green eyes watched them pass. A few moments after they had passed out of the wrought-iron gate, heading out into the desert, Cynthia looked over her shoulder. A line of green lights stared out after them. Courier Six gave the Ghost People one last nod and a wink, and set off for lands beyond the Cloud.

Cynthia poked at glowing embers with the blackened end of a stick, and stirred a bit of life from them, sending glowing flakes into the air. She leaned back onto the log and sighed, patting the drooling cowgirl's head on her shoulder. Across from her, Veronica sat against a cliff, and raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Cynthia asked.

"You know, I was trying _so_ hard to get over her," Veronica said, pointing to the sleeping Christine on a bedroll beside her. "And then you just bring me right back."

"Is that a problem?" Cynthia picked up the sarsaparilla bottle by her left hand and took a drink.

"No, but you could have told me you were into Cass."

Cynthia coughed and sputtered, spraying soda into the campfire's remains. Veronica giggled. "Yeah, I waited until you were drinking," she admitted, "just for that reaction."

As Cynthia recovered, she coughed out, "You-are-such-a-shit." Veronica laughed at that, too. Finally, the Courier managed to regain control over herself, and added, "And who the hell says I'm into Cass?"

"Well, to be fair, no way that's one-sided," Veronica said. "But I never really saw it till now."

"Make some sense, Veronica!" Cynthia exclaimed exasperatedly.

"Oh come on! She's always your go-to gal for any given mission, she's always following you around, always trying to get you drunk. I remember how nervous she was when you said 'Soft men aren't usually a problem for me'."

Cynthia's eyes widened, eyebrows arching upward. "And she said that she'd gotten so drunk occasionally that she didn't care who got into her bed - oh, Christ! I was so mad at her for that, thought she was saying I had no standards!" She slapped herself in the face. "God, I'm such an _idiot_!"

Veronica covered her mouth and tried to stifle her laughter. "Why-" She burst into laughter, then contained herself - "Why d'you think she was always so mad whenever you went to visit Lucy or Sarah or Joanna?"

"Oh, this is bad," Cynthia moaned, throwing her head back. "Now you've gone and made things awkward."

"How did you not notice this? I mean, you're like catnip for lesbians, you realize this, right? Women who like women like _you_. That's why Lucy and the other two are so willing to be your toys." Veronica crossed her arms. "So, wait, you're telling me that you didn't see the way I looked at you either - and I thought I was being so obvious!"

"Look, I don't - a real relationship isn't something that can happen, okay? I'm not ready for it," Cynthia attempted to explain.

"You're in your thirties now, that's bull. Besides, it doesn't have to be awkward if you don't want it to be. I bet Cass doesn't even realize what she's really feeling. All buried beneath the booze."

Cynthia rubbed her forehead. "Dammit, Veronica, you are just the _worst_." She carefully drew her sleeve back over her Pip-Boy, making sure not to disturb the passed-out drunk on her shoulder. "It's their turn for watch. I need to think about this without your incessant cheeriness making me feel stupid."

"Have fun being completely sleepless for six hours!" Veronica said, bending down to shake Christine. Cynthia turned her head and kissed Cass on the forehead. When that failed to create a reaction, she stood up and let her fall to the ground.

"Fuck!" Cass protested.

"Well, you could have used the bedroll," Cynthia said, moving over the object in question.

As she laid down on it, she saw Veronica giving her lover a long kiss and promising "See you in the morning."

She felt a pang of jealousy for the first time in many years.


	3. Secret Keeping

**Secret-Keeping**

"Hey, hey, hey!" a hooded, robed woman prodded, poking at a sleeping blond man. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, turning his head to the overeager Scribe.

"What? You're not even in the right room. Girls are over that way," he said, pointing to the doorway.

"Lily's not curious and Raul won't wake up and Boone's just pissed at me and Christine's still at Usanagi's and I wanna go snooping," the woman explained, practically bouncing up and down.

"Veronica, what are you on about?" he asked, sitting up in his bed and rubbing his eyes again. "It _has _to be late."

"I know! That's why this is so exciting!" Veronica squealed happily.

"Every day it is increasingly obvious that you were raised in a hole in the ground," the blond man groaned.

"Oh, don't be such a killjoy, Arcade." She bent down and whispered in his ear, "Cass and Cynthia snuck out!"

"And this is exciting because...?"

"You heard me gushing about how I think they're gonna have true love, right?"

Arcade sighed. "So they snuck out and had a private dinner or something, so what?"

"So we have to spy on them!" Veronica insisted.

"They have a right to their privacy."

"Not when Cynthia leaves her outfit at home. They're trying to be sneaky. We can't have that."

"Wait, you mean the hat and the glasses and the trenchcoat and _everything_?" Arcade said incredulously.

"Yeah! Totally incognito!"

"Everyone recognizes Cass too, Veronica...I don't think they're on a date. Do you know when they left?" Arcade asked.

"No, I just woke up a few minutes ago and I wanted to go to the Tops with Cynthia and they were gone!"

"They might have left at different times, even - are all the supplies still here?"

"Still piled up in the master bedroom, yeah."

"So they didn't leave for the East yet." Arcade put a hand on his chin. "Why don't you let me get dressed and we'll look for them, okay?"

"I'll wait in the casino," Veronica promised, rushing out of the room. Arcade swung his legs over the side of the bed, stretched, and took his glasses from the nightstand. On the bed across from him, a bald man rolled over and stared menacingly at Arcade.

"You're really going along with her?" he asked in a disgusted voice. "The Courier deserves to be able to do _something _alone."

"She'd never leave her hat here, at the very least - she loves that damn thing," Arcade replied.

"You should leave her be," Boone warned.

"I'm not gonna hurt her, Boone, I just want to know if she's doing something we should worry about." Arcade walked over to the wardrobe, pulled on jeans and a labcoat over his t-shirt and boxers, and turned back to Boone. "If she's in trouble, I want to help."

Boone turned away from Arcade, muttering under his breath. Arcade thought he heard the words, "nosy kid," under his breath, but dismissed it for the moment. He left the guest room and entered the elevator, heading down to the casino. As he left, he spotted Veronica eagerly approaching a one-wheeled robot with a television for a face, with a great big smiling visage on the screen.

"Where did Cass and Cynthia go?" she asked.

"Rose of Sharon is at Gomorrah! She had a whiskey bottle in her hand and said she wanted to play some god-damn roulette, and told me to get her there if she doesn't come back before dawn!" the robot replied eagerly. "Cynthia left a few minutes after Rose of Sharon, but she didn't tell me where she was going! Sorry I can't help you any more than that. Some of my Securitrons spotted her heading west out of the Strip."

"Thanks, Yes Man!" Veronica said, bounding over to Arcade. "Did ya hear that? She's probably going to Westside!"

"To visit Lucy? But she never needed to sneak around to get to Lucy before..." Arcade pondered. "And she and Cass apparently don't have anything to do with each other tonight."

"That just makes it more fun! Bet she's doing some backhanded deal for psycho or something!" Veronica said, moving towards the doors of the casino.

"How would that be a fun thing?"

"Because then you and me could fix her and get famous and the Followers would get lots of NCR money!"

"Really, Veronica, the fantasies you come up with..."

As the two of them emerged onto the lit-up Vegas strip, they spotted a woman in a leather jacket and tattered cowboy hat harassing a dancer, just outside the large building with Gomorrah in flaming letters atop it. She had four NCR dollars in her hand and appeared to be haggling with her, even as she shook her head and continued dancing.

"Well, we found Cass," Arcade said dryly.

"She looks so...desperate," Veronica said, frowning.

"I think whatever Cynthia's doing might be more worrisome, honestly. If she doesn't want to be recognized, it really could be bad," Arcade mused. "Come on."

The two of them left through the Strip's gate, and Veronica insisted on running through the dark streets of Freeside until they spotted a lone figure walking past the Old Mormon Fort. She put an arm out to stop Arcade, and succeeded in clotheslining him. As he got up, cursing quietly and clutching his bruised chin, Veronica shushed him and pointed to the figure.

"That's her!" she said. "Look at the way she walks - it's hard to see with her trench on all the time, but she kind of staggers, she has a weird step, see?"

"How can you be sure?" Arcade asked.

The figure stopped, turned, and pulled a large revolver from her hip holster. She pointed it down a nearby alleyway as two shaggy-looking thugs rushed at her from it, brandishing knives. Two quick shots and their heads became a pink mist.

"Okay, so it's her," Arcade whispered. He looked to where Veronica had once been, and spotted her hiding behind a telephone pole with a finger to her lips. He rolled his eyes at her.

Cynthia briefly looked to the left and right, apparently didn't spot either of her friends, and continued walking towards the north gate of Freeside. Veronica stepped out from behind the telephone pole and joined Arcade again.

"Come on," she urged as Cynthia passed under the Freeside sign. The neon lights illuminated her blond hair, held back in a messy bun with white flowers stuck through it, and showed her plain brown dress clearly. "She looks so _girly_!" Veronica objected quietly.

They followed her silently as she circled around the wall of sheet metal that surrounded Vegas, counterclockwise. She stopped in front of a dilapidated hotel building and knocked on the door, three quick strikes with her fist. Arcade and Veronica poked their heads out from behind the corner of a building across the street to see who came out.

A woman in black with blotchy, shriveled, darkened skin opened the door. Cynthia plucked a flower from her hair and offered it to her. The woman seemed shaken, but took the offering nonetheless. Cynthia moved in closer, bent down, and kissed her.

Veronica made an absurdly high-pitched noise directly into Arcade's ear. Cynthia's head snapped to look directly at the building the two were hiding behind, and they both darted back into cover immediately.

"Don't ever do that again," Arcade hissed. Veronica made a similar noise, but somewhat more quietly.

"She has a secret love!" Veronica swooned.

"Pretty Sarah, of all people," Arcade mused. "Well, I think that concludes our little adventure. Let's leave her be."

"One second," Veronica said, poking her head around the corner again. The two women had disappeared from the doorway. "Guess they went inside. How cute! How nice of her, too, to make that poor woman feel beautiful..." She started walking back towards the Vegas Strip, with Arcade following behind.

Arcade rolled his eyes. "Yes, how noble of her, to be shared with her three other girlfriends."

"They aren't girlfriends, they're-"

"Sex toys?"  
>"Oh, hush."<p>

"Just saying," Arcade said, putting his hands up.

"I've never seen her kiss someone on the lips like that before, you know," Veronica said, pouting slightly. "Maybe it really is love this time."

"Look, as much as I like Cynthia, I've never been convinced that the woman's even capable of love," Arcade argued. "The whole reason she's been able to do as she's done for the last few months is that she doesn't ever let her feelings take over completely - she's the most shrewd, manipulative, closed-off person I've met in my life. Not that it's a bad thing, she's funny and kind and all, but really, the fact that she could convince a man to give up top-secret military information despite hating him so much she shoots him immediately afterwards...Kind of makes me think she's never going to give in to her emotions like that, you know? She's always after something - justice, revenge, peace, money, or sex. But I don't think she'll ever seek out love."

"You're just saying all that because you're a cynical old man," Veronica said, sticking her tongue out at Arcade. "I think she's doing this because she has that reputation, and she has to keep it, you know? So she can't just be in an open, loving relationship with someone - then her enemies have someone to go after, and they see her as weak."

"First off, I'm not old-"

"Old soul," Veronica countered.

"Secondly, you're making excuses because you're still carrying a torch for her."

"Am not! Christine's back!" Veronica insisted as they passed under the Freeside sign.

"Doesn't mean anything."

"I love her."

"I can tell, but love isn't something that belongs to one person alone. You can definitely love more than one person."

"Oh, and you have experience with this?"

"Just trust me on this one."

The two of them passed through the gate to the Vegas strip, where Cass stumbled out onto the street before them, then fell flat on her face. A wide-brimmed black hat fell off her head.

"I'm the fuckin' Courier! Everrybody gimme free sex!" she shouted into the concrete.

"Oh, damn," Arcade said, rushing over to the drunken cowgirl.

"Doctah doctah, I need some re-_lease_," Cass slurred, rolling over to look up at Arcade.

"Oh for the love of God," Arcade moaned, holding out a hand. "Veronica, help me out here," he said as he struggled to pull her to her feet. Veronica took the other hand and lifted the drunk to her feet.

"Heavier than you look," Veronica complained as she steadied Cass.

"'S _all _muscle. Alla it," Cass clarified.

"Let's get you back to bed," Arcade suggested.

"No! I ain't got a hooker yet!" Cass dug in her jacket pocket and produced a huge wad of bills. "And look, I got the money!"

"Broke the bank, did we?" Arcade asked.

"They kicked me out because I was way too awesome for them," Cass replied.

"You were cheating, weren't you?" Arcade said.

"Can't cheat at fucking roulette, I'm just that lucky."

"Whatever. You're going home before someone shanks you," Arcade stated.

"No-fun fuckin' doctors with their fuckin' therapy and their not having sex," Cass mumbled, but she followed Arcade into the Lucky 38 nonetheless as Veronica picked up Cynthia's hat. After laying her down in one of the cots set up in the suite's kitchen, Arcade returned to bed. Boone turned over and stared at him.

"So, was she in trouble?" he asked.

"No, she's just seeing someone in secret."

"I told you, you didn't need to go. Next time, let her keep her own secrets." Boone turned away again. Arcade sighed, took off his labcoat, and laid down in his bed, turning over his new knowledge in his mind for hours to come.

* * *

><p>Cynthia sighed and kicked off her boots as she left the elevator, emerging into a darkened hallway. Her hair fell in messy tangles to her shoulders, and she kept adjusting her dress straps, feeling uncomfortable. She opened the door to the master bedroom, flicked on the light, and cursed loudly when she spotted the brown-robed woman sitting cross-legged on her bed.<p>

"I knew I was being followed!" she moaned. "Can't I just have some privacy?"

"You and Pretty Sarah!" Veronica exclaimed happily, eyes shining. "That's so cute!"

"Get out," Cynthia ordered, pointing out the door with her thumb. "And don't mention this again."

"Arcade knows, probably Boone too," Veronica pointed out.

"God dammit," Cynthia cursed, walking over to the bed and sitting down behind Veronica. She turned her body to face the Courier.

"So why is it a secret?" she asked.

Cynthia put a hand to her head. "This is payback, isn't it? For when I asked you if you'd ever been in love, and you wanted to drop it, but I wouldn't - right?"

"Maybe a little bit," Veronica admitted, "but I also just really want to know."

"Look, I - I didn't mean for this to happen. When we first met her, it was just after we killed Motor-Runner, and all the Fiends were on the run. When I heard about what Cook-Cook did to her, I wanted to help, but he was nowhere to be found. So I kind of put that on file and after our trip to the Madre, I heard he was back in town. So I went out at night, found Pretty Sarah, and took her to Cook-Cook's camp. Took out all the Fiends from a distance and shot out one of the bastard's knees, then we came up close. Handed her my gun to finish him off. She used it to pistol whip him 'till he cried, then cooked him with his own flamethrower."

"That's horrible!"

"The least he deserved," Cynthia hissed. "You wouldn't understand, Veronica. Don't try and convince me otherwise."

"So...so how did that lead to what I saw tonight?"

"I brought her back to her hotel, but she looked kind of...lost, unsure what to do next. I felt like...I don't know, that she needed a little help, needed someone else in her life besides her girls. So I took her to dinner at the Ultra-Lux and things just...kind of developed from there." Cynthia sighed. "Please, keep it secret, Veronica. If this gets out, she's in a lot of danger. I have plenty of enemies left."

"I will...but you're going east soon. She's not coming with you, is she?"

"We both knew, starting out, that it wasn't going to last. But it makes us happy, and that's all that matters. Our scars compliment each other, and she's helped me deal with a few problems of my own."

"_Your_ scars?"

"Oh, dammit." Cynthia swung her legs up onto the bed and pulled up the hem of her dress over her knee. Ragged raised lines criss-crossed the back of her legs, running over blotchy skin coated in small white slashes. "These ones, and there are a lot more, okay? Ask Cass about it some time."

"Why would she-"

"I had to pass the time while we were at the Madre, so I told her about...my past. I'm not retelling it. Now, is this going to be a problem? Do I have to look back every ten feet I walk outside the goddamn 38 and shoot any robes I spot?" Cynthia asked pointedly, drawing out her pistol and holding it straight up.

Veronica held up her hands. "Okay! Okay! I won't mention it again-"

"And definitely not to Cass."

"Not to Cass, right. But still!" Veronica grinned. "You're in love! That's awesome!"

"Don't assume anything, Veronica."

Veronica got up off the bed. "See you in the morning, lovebird."

Cynthia threw a boot at her head, intentionally clearing it by a narrow inch. Veronica beat a quick retreat, closing the door behind her.

"God-damn optimists," Cynthia cursed.


	4. Weary Toting Such A Load

**Weary Toting Such A Load  
><strong>

In the shadow of a sideways skyscraper stuck in a cliff's edge, a woman sewed by firelight.

At her feet, just in front of the collection of old magazines and rotting fragments of power lines that formed her kindling, were the remains of professionally-made body armor, stamped with the fourteen-starred American flag. The woman in the black cowboy hat was busy sewing the back plating into the trenchcoat laid across her thighs, a cigarette clenched between her teeth, an old locker on its side beneath her.

She heard crumbling earth, and panicked, looking upward - but the skyscraper was not threatening to fall. She spotted dust rolling off the edge of the cliff just off to the side, and put down her needle and thread to pull the revolver from the holster on her belt. Pale blue eyes scanned the area around her.

"Show yourself."

"Boo." She turned the gun behind her and stuck it up against the chin of the person who'd spoken into her ear.

"Down there, girl," the gravelly voice said gently, a hand gingerly touching the barrel and lowering it. "You know me."

"You could've announced yourself." She lowered her weapon. "Get around so I can see you, I don't want to fuck this up."

Her visitor circled around to the other side of the campfire and sat crossed-legged on the ground, carefully arranging his sleeveless duster's tail to avoid sitting on it. Brown eyes stared through the carefully knotted locks of his hair, directly into those of the woman. "Did you really think you could make it through the Divide without me noticing you?" he asked through the mask that covered his mouth and nose.

"I'd hoped."

"Your friends are looking for you, Courier. They remember the last time you disappeared, but this time seems a bit more permanent, no?"

"Are you working to some kind of point, Ulysses?" the Courier asked, holstering her weapon and returning to her task.

"You can't just walk away from them."

"I can and I have. I'm my own person and I don't have to answer to them." The Courier looked down at her work very intently.

"Sneaking off in the middle of the night and telling them that this was something you had to do on your own might have been acceptable a month ago. Not now. Not after riling up the Bear and planning your campaign. Not after setting a date. You're abandoning them. Happen to recall what happened last time you jump-started and then abandoned a community?" Ulysses pointed up at the skyscraper.

The Courier held up her coat and looked over her work, then leaned down to pick up a shoulder pad and began work with that. It wasn't until halfway through that Ulysses spoke again.

"Nothing to say?"

"It's different this time."

"Explain how."

"This was always about me and my vengeance. Bringing other people into it would do more harm than good. The Legion will destroy itself without my help, but I _need_ to see it done."

"So all that talk of the civilizing touch of the Bear, was that just fluff and nonsense, then? Wouldn't bringing your pet cause along help the people you're trying to save?"

"Who said I was saving anyone?"

"You did. You refused to bomb the Legion because of all the innocents you would kill, all the slaves and subjects that deserve better. And now it's just about vengeance?"

In and out went the needle, carefully tying the fabric clasps that once held the armor together into the coat. The cigarette continued to burn idly, without the slightest attempt at inhalation.

"Courier."

"What do you want from me?"

"I want you to go back and get your friends together. They want to support you, and you're just leaving them in the dust. You don't get to come into someone's life and change it the way you do and then just up and vanish. That's why you walked the Divide, why I called you here. Your actions have consequences, Courier, and you don't get to pretend that you're powerless any longer. Not after what you've done."

"I won't let them get hurt for nothing."

"You don't have the right to decide that, or to go back on your word. They choose to follow you, to risk their lives for you, to be your friends and companions. Taking off now, that's just leaving them lost, without a leader. You think Kimball can lead an eastward campaign?"

"He wouldn't-"

"He'll have to now. The army's been gearing up for this, Courier. You've hyped it up and promised it for a solid month. You think that they're just going to forget all your fire, your passion? Take responsibility, Courier, and lead them to victory. If you don't, they'll _all _die for your sins."

The Courier finished off the shoulder pad and looked up at Ulysses. "So, what? You want me to take my friends on a suicide mission? To watch people I care about die?"

"It's their choice, and they want to help you like you helped them. And even if you do return, and even if they don't die, they won't be your friends anymore."

"I'll have saved their lives-"

"If what I'm saying doesn't come true. _Don't give this up_, Courier."

The Courier sighed and took a drag off her cigarette, then tossed it into the fire. She slowly exhaled a smoke ring, closing her eyes.

After her breath was spent, she looked down at Ulysses, a cold glare. "And what makes you care so much? What makes you, the man who nearly nuked the Mojave, worthy of giving advice on friends?"

Ulysses stroked one of his braids. "Have you forgotten?"

"Forgotten what?"

"What I left behind in the Divide. What you found here, what you studied and used against me, what you used to make me understand." Ulysses reached into his duster and pulled a small device from the inside pocket, and pressed the arrow button on its face.

"The White Legs... meant to show respect, bribe me for Caesar's favor, echoing mannerisms and words ... Showed them tech caches, taught them the workings of chamber and powder, spoke of Caesar's pride in those that used such things ... lies. And ... and then ... they tried to honor me - not the Legion. They brought me before the campfire one night, showed me how they changed themselves, how they wore their hair now. It was like my entire dead tribe in the firelight, teeth grinning red in the dark - eager corpses, blood-covered ghosts. They ... had taken my braids, the way of the Twisted Hairs, as if it showed they were like me, of me ... while every knot in their braids spoke of raping, violence - and ignorance of what the knots meant. They thought to show respect ... defiled it. Lost myself in trying to read the braids they wore, when I remembered they had put no meaning in it. They had no history of what it meant. They didn't even know the insult in the twists, knots ... and Dry Wells came running back, the White Legs circled like that ... It was like looking at the dead of my tribe, reborn as ghosts - hateful, hungry, bowing to Caesar. Another history ... gone, carried by me alone."

The playback stopped with a _click_. Ulysses put the recorder back in his pocket. He looked up at the Courier.

"You've built something beautiful, a camaraderie, a shared history, a group of people who will support each other and you until the ends of the earth. A chance to make a history. I had that, once. It was stolen from me. You're voluntarily leaving it behind? You're turning your back on that? I can't stand to see such waste, Courier Six. Not again."

The Courier put her head in her hands.

"All right," she whispered. "You're right. You're completely right."

The distant _pops_ of automatic rifle fire echoed through the canyon, and Ulysses turned his head. "Good. Because it sounds like someone's finding their way to you." He stood up. "I don't think they need to see me."

"Did you know about this before you came here?"

"I was too busy tracking you down. If I'd known someone was stupid enough to enter the Divide, I'd have turned them away. I'd better get back to my vigil. You take care of whatever fool search party they sent out for you."

Ulysses stood up.

"Going to spend the rest of your days watching over the Divide?" the Courier asked.

"Maybe. But if you hammer that Bear into something worthwhile...well, once a courier, always a courier, right?"

"Once a courier, now a general, for me."

"Poor turn of phrase, but you get the idea." Ulysses walked off for the cliff, and found a broken-off pipe. He began to scale the cliff, and the Courier bid him farewell with a tip of her hat.

The Courier picked up the remaining shoulder pad and renewed her work as the sky began to lighten. She'd just finished the final stitch when she heard someone calling her name.

"Cynthia? Cynthia, you piece of shit, I know you're out there!" echoed off the canyon walls, and the Courier smiled to herself. "Hey, you're not Cynthia, _fuck off!_" followed, along with a gunshot. As the sun finally poked over the walls of the canyon and shone pink light upon the ruin of the Divide, the Courier saw a ragged cowboy hat pop up over the wall of a sideways building half-lodged in the ground, followed by a familiar face.

"There you are! I fucking called it!" cried the cowgirl, hoisting herself up onto the building's remains.

"And how'd you do that?" the Courier asked.

"I lived near the Divide for way too long, remember? I went out to hunt game for the rangers one night, and the little fucker ran across the wreckage that leads into this shithole. I remembered that 'courier six' shit." She jumped down from the building and took hold of the assault carbine slung across her back.

"And why didn't you work this out last time I disappeared?"

"Because back then you weren't the Queen of the God-Damned Mojave and you weren't running away from your own shit. Speaking of which-" -She released the safety - "Why! The! Fuck! Would! You! Do! That!" she screamed, punctuating each word with a bullet aimed in the Courier's general direction. Cynthia raised her arms, as though this would help, and flinched at each shot. Once the gunfire had died down, Cynthia lowered her arms and glared.

"Cass, what the _fuck_."

"I'm fucking pissed off is what the fuck!" Cass shouted, steadying her rifle at the Courier. "You don't get to do that shit, you hear me? Not anymore!"

"Cass, it's okay, really."

"No it fu-"

"I met a friend here. He talked me out of it."

Cass looked dumbfounded. "Huh?"

Cynthia smiled. "I'm going back."

"Bu-but-I just fuckin'-you _seen_ those little trogs round here? Could take a leg off ya - did I just waste my fuckin' time?"

"A little bit, yeah."

"Fuck me, I had this whole grand speech to- hey, waitaminute. Since when can other people convince you to do anything? Isn't that, like, your thing?" Cass slung the rifle across her back and walked closer to the dying fire.

"You haven't met him."

"Huh." Cass took a seat next to the courier and unscrewed her hip flask, taking a swig. "Well, shit."

"Something you wanted to say?"

"Well, don't pull this shit again, you got that? I was worried sick about you. No note, no goodbye - I thought someone'd kidnapped you or something at first, 'till I realized all the supplies were gone."

"Sorry."

"It was shitty."

"Yeah."

Cass took another swig.

"You do know that we're gonna have to walk back out of here," Cynthia said.

"You're here, I'll make it. We going soon? And what've you done to your coat?"

Cynthia stood up and pulled on her trenchcoat, feeling the added weight.

"Oh, man, you look like a badass. More than usual, I mean," Cass said. Cynthia reached down and picked up her duffel bag and the massive rifle that lay on top of it, slinging both across her shoulders.

"Let's get back to the Mojave."

"Kay. I'll catch up with you."

Cynthia began to walk away, then heard a muttered "Oh, _fuck it_," from behind her. As she turned to ask, "Fuck wha-" she suddenly found herself in the arms of an inebriated cowgirl.

"Don't ever do that again," Cass said quietly into her shoulder. "You're all I've got, you hear?"

Cynthia returned the embrace. "Don't you worry."

They broke the embrace, but Cass took the Courier's hand and didn't let go as they walked back through the Divide, back to the Mojave and The Courier's responsibilities.


	5. A Kiss To Build A Dream On

**A Kiss To Build A Dream On**

Cynthia put on her black cowboy hat, left her tent, and beheld the city of her birth.

She stood on a small hill, overlooking the great walled town, an entire NCR army swarming around her to prepare for the battle they'd been working toward for nearly six months. Cynthia walked through them, people swerving around her like she projected a force field, making way for the general of the eastward campaign. She made her way to a ridge, where a man with a red beret lay prone, sniper rifle trained on Flagstaff. The red bull flying off the ruins of Northern Arizona University began to climb down as Cynthia sat beside Boone.

"What's happening?" she asked.

"Don't know. Been watching all night. Lots of flashes in that building, pops. Think they're changing management," Boone replied, peering through the scope.

"Well that'll disappoint Moore," Cynthia said.

"Moore, huh?" Cass asked, dropping down on the other side of Boone. "What about you? Don't you want these fuckers dead?"

"You're distracting me," Boone said through grit teeth.

"Too bad, sniper boy," Cass said, leaning back. "So, Cynthia, what do we do if they don't wanna fight?"

"We call 'em smart, and we look for the ones who escaped our last attacks. Anyone who needs to be brought to justice," Cynthia said. "And then I head inside and do what I came here to do."

"Thought you came to kill shitheads," Cass said.

"That's part of it. But like I said. I need to watch the Legion end, and only I can really make it happen," Cynthia said, taking the anti-materiel rifle from her back and lying down beside Boone.

"Got yourself kind of a big head, don'tcha?" Cass asked.

"It'll only end for me when I make it end," Cynthia said, lifting her sunglasses atop her forehead, closing one eye and looking through her scope. "You wouldn't understand."

"You say that too much," Cass complained.

"Hold on, you two," Boone said. "Something's happening."

Up the flagpole came a great white sheet, flapping somewhat limply in the dusty Arizona wind.

"Fuck," Cass complained.

"The doors are opening. Let's get down there," Cynthia said, standing and slinging the rifle across her back again.

"Another day I don't die. Maybe you're good luck, Courier," Boone said cryptically.

"Boone, you creep me out," Cass said.

"Great. Does that mean you won't talk over my head when I'm trying to snipe?"

"Fuck no."

"Glad we understand each other."

They followed the Courier, and the army, down to the great scrap-metal gates of Flagstaff.

* * *

><p>By the time Cynthia reached the gates, a great crowd of desert camouflage surrounded whatever Legion leader had come forth. Despite her great height, too many faces - including Moore's - were blocking the way for her to see exactly who she was dealing with. She carefully navigated the crowd, not wanting to make a fuss - until she saw him, through a gap in the sea of soldiers.<p>

She tore through the crowd, shoving them away, a path clearing as people realized what was happening.

"We're willing to give up-" the Legion leader said, and then he said nothing at all, as Cynthia grabbed him by the throat and shoved him into the Flagstaff walls.

"Six!" Moore shouted. "Stand dow-" A revolver cocked behind her ear.

"Let her do her thing," Cass suggested, holding the pistol to Moore's head.

"Who the hell-" the balding, white-haired Centurion gasped, then choked as Cynthia's grip tightened.

"You don't remember me? Huh? The little _prize_ Caesar would give out? _Huh? _The one he named as some sick joke?" Cynthia hissed. "Don't you, Darius? Don't you remember me?"

"Who-who-"

Cynthia tore her sunglasses off her face with her free hand. "You don't remember Artemis?"

Darius' blue eyes widened, his face pulling back in shock. "You!"

"Damn right, you son of a bitch. I remember what you did to me. Every bruise, every cut, every chain. Every pathetic little attempt at being dominant, every abuse, every rape." Cynthia dropped her sunglasses to the ground, pulling a revolver from her hip.

"God- I'm sorry, I had to, it was expected of a Cent-"

"Shut up! Shut the fuck up!" Cynthia shouted, spit flying from her mouth and striking him in the face. "You have no excuse for what you did." She heard a rustling of armor and weapons to her right.

"Cynthia, the Legionaries are getting a little pissed," Cass warned.

"They can appoint a new leader, we've got them outgunned," Boone said coldly, silently slipping to the front of the crowd. "They won't move on her. Right, fellas?"

The Legion in the army didn't move a muscle.

Cynthia pulled her revolver up to Darius' face, her hand shaking, breath hot as it left her lips. "You. You and every motherfucker like you. Maybe the little baby Legionaries can be salvaged. But Centurions? They're all gonna fucking die, because they pleased Caesar, and that means they did something horrible. There are no exceptions. You will all pay for what you've done."

She threw Darius to the ground, his head slamming into the earth. She grabbed him by the wispy white hair that just barely still covered his head, then struck him with her revolver, knocking him back to the dirt. She stepped back, let him get to his knees, facing her.

"Please," he whispered, blood bubbling on his lips, "stop."

"You never did," she said, and fired one clean shot into his forehead.

The echoes rang out, and Cynthia whipped her head towards the Legion, still hanging in the gates. "Bring out your Centurions. We'll deal with them. The rest of you may go free so long as your slaves are freed, and if I ever hear anything about slavery in the East again..." Cynthia trailed off.

The Legion hesitated, and then broke into chaos as Centurions were pushed forward through the crowd.

Boone and Cynthia handled the executions, while a Legionnaire talked with Moore about peace treaties and other things the Courier cared nothing for. When it was done, she walked into Flagstaff, and let Cass follow behind her.

* * *

><p>Cass lagged behind the Courier, shying away from the woman who seemed to have the most intimidating <em>walk<em> on the planet. Her stride was long, purposeful, her turns sharp and deliberate - she seemed to remember the place like it was yesterday. It was only when she reached a cylindrical building, holes patched over with scrap metal, that she slowed. It was blood-red, the golden bull sitting squarely above the doors, as though waiting.

Cass caught up to her. The Courier stood stock-still for a moment, breathing raggedly. Cass put a hand on her shoulder.

"You okay?" she asked gently.

"I will be," Cynthia said, steeling herself. "This is it, you know. The harem."

"Oh, God...Cynthia, you don't have to-"

"I do." Cynthia sucked in air through her teeth. "I wonder if any of them are still here. Hera, Io, Athena...if they've been here the whole time I've been gone."

"You...you said your name was Artemis, right?'

"My slave name. Don't know what my mom called me, not anymore. Caesar's idea of a joke, naming us all after goddesses, so it'd be funnier when they took us women down to size." Cynthia spat. "Piece of shit."

"Cynthia..."

"I'm going in. Come if you want." The Courier walked forward, leaving Cass to follow.

The Courier put a hand on one of the double doors, and paused for a moment, feeling the wood through her glove. She drew in a deep breath, then pushed inward, revealing the main room. A light flashed erratically in the center of the room, illuminating a circle of red carpet festooned with beds and pillows of the same color. Several men lay dead on the floor, half-naked, their blood dampening the ground beneath Cynthia's feet.

"Well, this isn't quite how I remember it," she said, looking around. She kicked at one of the bodies, turning it over to see how he'd died. Several holes studded his chest.

"Think our girls made a run for it?" Cass asked.

"Maybe." Cynthia walked to the edge of the room, towards one of several wooden doors. "These were our quarters, let's see if anyone's left in them." She carefully pushed it inward, and saw a dark, messy room, but nothing to suggest anyone had been in there recently. She went from door to door, clockwise around the rotunda, until she pushed on one - and it failed to budge. She took her hat off, and put her ear to the door.

Someone was breathing, rather staggeringly, on the other side.

Cynthia stepped away from the center of the door, reached over, and knocked twice. A gunshot blew a chunk of the door out, making Cass jump and curse.

"Stay away!" a quavering voice warned.

"We're here to-" Cass said, but Cynthia held a finger to her lips, then stood in front of the door and peered through the new hole.

"I'm warning you," the woman on the other side said, holding her shotgun to her hip.

"You'll break an arm like that, Juno," Cynthia said.

"Who the hell are you?" Juno asked, leveling the shotgun at the door. The flickering light illuminated messy black hair and bright green eyes, a full-cheeked face twisted in anger and suspicion.

"She's a woman, you dumbfuck, she's not here to-" Cass began, but Cynthia hissed out "Shh!" to stop her.

"It's me, Juno. I don't know if you're too young to remember, but..." Cynthia sighed. "Is it just you?"

"Is that-" another voice said.

"Quiet!" Juno hissed.

"No, Juno, I think...those eyes," the other voice insisted, an older woman's tones. A middle-aged face suddenly popped up and blocked Cynthia's view of Juno.

"Io!" Cynthia exclaimed, her face breaking into a sudden smile.

"Artemis?" Io whispered, reaching a hand through the hole, touching the Courier's face. "It can't be, they told us you died!"

Cynthia took Io's hand in both of hers, pressing down on it. "I'm here. And you're all going to be free. Could you open the door?"

"This could be a trap," Juno warned.

"I remember Artemis," Io snapped. "She would never trick us. Just a second." Io moved away from the door, and Cynthia stepped back. A great screeching and dragging sound caused both the Courier and her companion to cover their ears, only barely being able to make out the sounds of more than a pair of footsteps scurrying about.

Juno was first out of the door, still holding her shotgun and aiming at Cynthia. "Okay, 'Artemis', who the hell are you and why should I care?"

Cynthia took off her hat, holding it in one hand. "God, you were only thirteen, or maybe fifteen, but..."

"Hold on a second." Juno's eyes narrowed. "You do look a little familiar."

"I was one of you." Cynthia looked directly into Juno's eyes. "You're sure you don't-"

Io came out of the door behind Juno, and pushed past her, rushing to embrace the Courier. Cynthia caught the small, frail-looking woman and squeezed her as hard as she could. "Io..." she said, a blush rising in her cheeks.

"You shut up. I thought you were dead," Io said into her shoulder. She stepped back. "You've gotten strong. And big."

"The amount of shit I carry everywhere, you have to have a lot of muscle," Cynthia said with a shrug.

Io looked to Cass. "Another redhead?" She put a hand on her hip. "Didn't you learn your lesson last time?"

"Hey, we're not together," Cass said irritably.

"Oh, sure," Io said, winking at Cynthia.

Juno gasped. "Oh, holy shit, you were Leona's girl!" she exclaimed, lowering her gun.

Cynthia put her hat back on. "Yes, I was. And it's Cynthia now, just so you know," she said. "I'd love to catch up with..." A small crowd had gathered in the doorway, a collection of women who looked too scared to step out into the light. Cynthia smiled. "...all of you girls, but I need to do something here first. Go to the gates, there's an army there, ready to help you or take you home with them - and they're good people. Find the guy with the red beret, tell him I sent you. Take anything you need to keep with you."

"We haven't got anything but the clothes on our backs," Io said. "Just like always. Promise me that I'll see you again."

"Of course, Io. I'm sure we'll be kicking around for some years yet. I'll catch up with you later."

"C'mon, ladies," Juno said, turning to face the crowd. "Let's get out of here." As she walked out with the group, she stopped and kicked a dead Legionnaire in the crotch before leaving. Cynthia tipped her hat to Io, who scurried off after them.

"See you later, Cynthia!" she called happily, and then the door shut, leaving Cass and the Courier alone in the harem.

The electric buzz filled the air, Cynthia staring down at the floor, at a large dark stain, at nothing at all. Her shoulders sagged, as though a heavy weight had just been placed on her back.

"Cynthia?" Cass asked, walking over to her. "You okay?"

Cynthia didn't respond, reaching into her coat for a pack of cigarettes and an engraved lighter. "Io was like a mother to me," she said, placing a cigarette in her mouth. "I didn't even dare to hope that she'd be alive. I thought that once I escaped they'd kill her, everyone knew that me and her were close. She was the first person I ever told, about the way I felt towards some of the other girls. After that, she...looked out for me, tried to make sure I was never chosen, put herself out there in my place sometimes, say I was sick. Stuff that should've gotten her killed." With a sigh, she flicked open the lighter and held it to the cigarette. She took a long drag.

"So what are you here to do, anyway?" Cass asked.

Cynthia breathed out a long cloud of smoke before responding. "You had to see your past destroyed, right? Had to see it for yourself."

"So..."  
>"So do I." Cynthia stuck the cigarette between her teeth and opened her coat up, showing Cass the C-4 that she'd strapped into it.<p>

"Holy shit!" Cass leapt back. "And you let _me-_"

Cynthia chuckled. "It's just so I could store them, you idiot," she said. "I'm not gonna kill myself, or you."

Cass relaxed. "Oh."

Cynthia began to take out the explosives, tossing every other block to Cass. "Put them around the supports," she ordered, taking the remaining half for herself. "You do that side, I'll do this one."

They set about their work in silence, Cynthia puffing on her cigarette the entire time. Once Cass called out "Done!", Cynthia moved towards the exit, letting Cass run to catch up with her outside of the harem. They emerged onto the street and found it occupied by an NCR squad - and a cameraman. Cynthia grit her teeth at the first flash.

"Just ignore them, Cynthia," Cass urged. "Let's blow this fucking thing."

The Courier turned to face the harem, took her cigarette out, and flicked it, making it land just within the doorway. She pulled a small black detonator from the inside pocket of her coat, put her thumb on the button. She took a deep breath.

The blast nearly knocked over the cameraman, and even Cynthia staggered backward as the building collapsed in on itself, a horrific crashing of metal and masonry. She stared into the destruction unblinkingly, eyes watering.

"Cynthia?" Cass asked, looking up at her.

The Courier began to shake, tears running down her cheeks, hands curled into fists at her sides.

"Hey..." Cass's voice was a whisper. She reached up, touched Cynthia's face. "Hey, look at me." She turned the Courier's face down, away from the ruins of her old life. She looked into those pale blue eyes, shining with tears. "It's okay," Cass said quietly, "you did it. The Legion's gone."

Cynthia choked, blinked once, then threw her arms around Cass. She leaned down and gave her a long, deep kiss, tasting of salt and grime, and every bit worth returning.

A flashbulb went off, and the photographer got his magnum opus. "A Kiss To Build A Dream On" made its way back to Vegas and the Mojave, across NCR territory, throughout former Legion land. A symbol of a new beginning, of hope, a way to begin without slavery or brutality.

Yet that would be the last most would see of the Courier and her cowgirl companion, at least those who had known them before. For she needed a purpose after Flagstaff, and she remembered the words of Ulysess - tales that she had walked the West, a time in her life that had been erased by a bullet.

What had she left there? Could she have another Divide, another community in peril for her actions? She had a responsibility, and she intended to see it through - and Cass wouldn't leave her side for a moment.

Every once in a while, she'd show up back near the frontier, the moment any news about the NCR going astray caught her ear. And every time she reappeared, it was salutes and "yes, ma'am"s and apologizing for whatever wrong they'd done.

Courier Six - hero of the NCR, Caesar's bane, Mr. House's end, master of Big MT, savior of Zion - became a legend, a boogeyman of corruption. And when she passed away peacefully in her sleep, some fifty years later, the wicked and evil of the world continued to see her in their shadow for decades to come.

-THE END-


End file.
